A Melodramatic Story
by Mertiya
Summary: Originally serious, it's a bit of melodramatic fluff, really. At the beginning of sixth year, Hermione is kidnapped, and Ron and Harry try to get her back.


**A/N:** This is the single most unbelievably melodramatic story I believe I have written. Please, don't take it too seriously. It was written seriously but it can be quite funny if you realize just how steeped in melodrama it is. Oh, and pray, no flames. Constructive criticism is fine, though. Thanks!

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Harry Potter. I'm not even a huge Ron/Hermione shipper anymore, though I was when I wrote this.

**A Melodramatic Story**

It had been a strangely quiet summer. Harry felt nervous and edgy as he stood on Platform 9 3/4, waiting for the train to come in.

"Harry!" called an eager voice. He turned and saw Hermione Granger running toward him, her face alight with welcome.

"Hi, Hermione," he said, but his face was still creased in a worried frown. Hermione saw it and stopped. "What's the matter, Harry?" she asked, and then the smile left her face, too.

"Why am I even asking?" she said, laughing slightly, mirthlessly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It's too quiet, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. "Sort of like the calm before the storm. Oh, here's Ron."

Ron came running up, slightly red in the face. "Seen Ginny?" he asked Harry. Harry shook his head. "I just got here," he replied.

"Me too," Hermione said, smiling at Ron, but Ron didn't seem to notice. Instead he swore breathlessly. "I can't find her anywhere, and I'm sure she's snogging that awful Dean Thomas or something!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, you don't need to be so overprotective. Ginny can take care of herself, you know."

"But I'm her _brother_. It's my responsibility to—,"

"To what? Seriously, Ron, she'll be fine. I don't seem to remember Fred and George stopping you going out with a girl."

"But I've never gone out with a girl."

"Well, can you see them trying anyhow?"

"Uh…"

Harry sighed. "Can you two stop bickering for awhile?"

Hermione blushed. "Yes, Harry. Sorry."

Ron shrugged helplessly. Then he brightened up. "Here's the Express!" he exclaimed as the familiar train came puffing into the station.

Harry sat at a window, staring out. It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear, unusual in this part of the world. Still, the lovely day seemed overcast with a looming shadow. Nobody knew when Voldemort might suddenly return. Harry felt as if the sword of Damocles were poised over his head. Hermione, dressed in her school robes, came over and sat down next to him.

"It doesn't seem like things will ever be safe and happy again, does it?" she asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. "No, it doesn't. It's like…it's like having a tremendous weight on your shoulders, one that could crush you at any minute."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed softly. "Well, at least we've all still got each other."

Harry nodded.

"Although, sometimes," Hermione continued. "It would be a lot easier if there were only two of us or four of us or something."

"What, then you and Ron could stop bickering?"

"Not exactly," Hermione flushed slightly and Harry wondered why she was embarrassed. At that point, Ron entered the compartment and dropped into his seat with a noisy sigh.

"We nearly there?" he asked. Hermione looked at him, but didn't say anything. Harry didn't turn away from the window. The late afternoon sun shone golden over the fields, and the grass in the meadows waved in the breeze.

"I said, 'Are we nearly there'?" Ron asked again. "Why is everybody so quiet?"

"What, like you can't figure it out, Ron?" Hermione asked snippily.

"Uh…well…fine, I know why everybody is so quiet." Grumpily, he slouched lower in his seat.

"Sorry," Hermione said in a low voice.

"Sorry for what?"

"I-I don't mean to be so snappy. I'm just on edge."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "This is the most subdued we've been since first year."

"Actually, I think this is the most subdued we've ever been," Hermione said quietly. "Although, of course, I wasn't with you the whole time during first year."

"You could be right," Ron acknowledged. Both of them looked at Harry, who frowned and shook his head as if trying to clear it. "Yeah," he said eventually. "Yeah, we are subdued. No wonder, really, is it?"

Ron shook his head. "No."

Hermione sat down suddenly and folded her hands in her lap, twisting them together in agitation. "I wish something would _happen_!" she burst out. "It's this waiting that's the most horrible part of all!"

Harry looked at her, dead serious. "Are you sure of that?"

"W-oh, look, Harry, I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied. He stared at the floor.

"It still—hurts—doesn't it?" Hermione asked gently.

"Yeah," Harry grunted.

"Oh, hello everyone," said a vague voice, making the occupants of the carriage look up.

"Hi, Luna," Ron said, as a girl with large round eyes and a faraway expression entered the compartment.

"Did you have a good holiday looking for-er-crumple-horned snorkacks?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, thank you," Luna answered. "We thought we saw one in the mountains, actually. And the weather was lovely."

"Come sit down," Harry invited. Luna nodded and did so.

"The storm is going to break soon," she said suddenly.

For a remark out of the blue, it was oddly comprehensible. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all nodded. "What will happen when it does, I wonder?" Harry muttered to himself. He looked around at his friends all around the carriage. Would they all be still sitting here next year? Or would one or more of the familiar faces be gone—forever? The thought chilled him to the bone. He turned away from the window and stared at the floor of the carriage. The Hogwarts Express rumbled on through the golden afternoon.

They were having to work hard, but it wasn't as bad as fifth year had been. Hermione, of course, had a full course load, and Ron and Harry weren't far behind, but all the same, they weren't having to stay up until midnight to finish this year, which helped bolster Harry's flagging spirits somewhat. He and Ron were enjoying a game of wizarding chess (which Harry was losing badly as usual) when Hermione came in and sat down at the table. She bit her lip and then put a copy of _The Daily Prophet _in front of Harry.

"What is it?" he asked. He hadn't bothered to renew his subscription since last year.

"Here," she pointed. "You-Know-Who sightings."

"This is a news flash? There are always sightings," Harry said dully.

Hermione's face was pinched with worry. "This time the witness seems fairly reliable."

"Yes…so?"

"And the sighting was in Hogsmeade."

There was a crash as Ron leaped up, knocking over the chess board. "_He's in Hogsmeade_?!" he cried.

Hermione nodded.

"Harry, mate, what are we going to do?"

"Do?" Harry asked listlessly. "What can we do?"

"Harry, for goodness' sake, pull yourself together!" Hermione snapped. "I haven't been saying anything out of respect for your feelings, but this has gone far enough!"

"What do you mean?" a flicker of real feeling shot through Harry's body.

"Ever since we got back you've been all fatalistic or something, like V-Voldemort is unconquerable!"

"You don't understand," Harry began, but Hermione flared up again.

"I _do_ understand! You're afraid because—because—well, because Sirius died! And you're afraid of losing one of your other friends, so you're holding us at arms'-length, not letting us get too close! Well, fine! I've tried to be patient, and I've just had it!"

She slammed her fist down on the table, got up and stalked angrily out of the room.

"Harry—," Ron said awkwardly.

"_What_?" Harry flared up angrily. "YOU GOING TO HAVE A GO AT ME, TOO?! D'YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I'M REALLY WORRIED?! BECAUSE DUMBLEDORE TOLD ME WHAT THE PROPHECY SAID AND WHAT IT SAYS IS THAT EITHER I KILL VOLDEMORT OR HE KILLS ME, GOT IT?"

The absolute shock that crossed Ron's face gave Harry a feeling of savage pleasure. He was _glad_ that Ron was shocked, _glad_ that this had happened, but when he stopped to think about it, he was mainly glad because he wasn't alone anymore, now that somebody else knew the dreadful news.

"Harry—that—that's awful," Ron stammered. "I'm really sorry, mate, but you should have told us. That's what's been making you feel so bad, isn't it? I bet if you'd told Hermione, she'd have understood."

Harry tried to smile. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "She was right, though, you know, I have been being too fatalistic. We have to go on trying, right?"

"Right you are, mate!" Ron said enthusiastically. "So I'll go get Hermione and tell her, shall I?"

"No…" Harry said slowly. "No, I will. I need to apologize to her."

That was when they heard a girl's scream ring out from somewhere in the castle grounds. Harry turned cold and his heart almost stopped beating. "Ron…" he gasped. "That's Hermione!"

They didn't waste a moment in thought. The two boys jumped up and ran as fast as they could out the portrait hole and down through the halls, plowing into a few people on the way, but not paying any attention, because that had been Hermione's voice, and that meant that something had to have happened…

They barreled out of the castle doors and into the grounds, but it was too dark to see much.

"Lumos!" Harry cried, pulling out his wand. Ron followed suit a moment later. By the dim glow, they caught a glimpse of the tail of something long and sinuous vanishing out of the gates. Harry and Ron ran after it. They emerged in time to see a very non magical looking lorry about to pull away from the gates. Harry paused in consternation.

"Ron, what are we going to do?" he asked urgently. "We can't let them get away, but we don't have time to run and get the teachers or anything!"

Ron looked at Harry, his face white. "You get the teachers, I follow Hermione?" he asked.

"No way! _You_ get the teachers!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

Harry sighed. "I guess that settles it," he whispered. "Come on."

They were just in time to pull their legs up on the back of the lorry before it started up and zoomed away from the gates. It was a cold night, and Harry shivered. He wished he could have brought a jacket. There was a sliver of yellow light coming from within the lorry's innards. Harry put his eye to the crack. He could see the long, narrow room inside the lorry. At one end, Hermione sat in a chair, her legs and arms tied with ordinary rope, and a gag over her mouth. As Harry watched, someone else came into his field of view. He was a short, timid-looking, bald little man, his eyes forever rolling around and his nose twitching, very like a rodent's.

"Wormtail!" Harry gasped, prodding Ron.

"Mmmph," Ron grunted in answer. "What is it?"

"It's Peter Pettigrew, Ron!"

Even in the darkness, Harry could see the blood drain from Ron's face. "That means…"

"It means Voldemort's involved in this, all right!"

Pettigrew walked nervously forward and removed the gag from Hermione's mouth, but he pointed his wand at her neck. Hermione swallowed. "I take it you don't want me to scream?" she asked quietly, but Harry could hear the hard edge of fear in her voice.

"No, I don't," Pettigrew replied. "Now, Miss Granger, I suppose you're wondering what you're doing here?"

"Yes," Hermione answered with near-perfect composure, but Harry thought he saw her tremble a little.

"You are here, quite simply, as bait."

"Uh oh," muttered Harry to Ron, who by this time also had his eye to the crack.

"Definitely uh oh," replied Ron in a hissing whisper.

"My master, the great and glorious Lord Voldemort, is going to use you to capture the Potter boy."

"I see. And how does he plan to accomplish this? A ransom note?" Hermione's voice was scathing.

"No," said a new voice, a sibilant, cruel voice that Harry knew only too well. He saw Hermione go rigid with fear and realized she had never actually been face to face with Lord Voldemort before.

"No, Miss Granger, we are not quite so primitive as that," the voice of Voldemort continued. "You see, my dear, I sense what you cannot: the two boys clinging to the back of this truck."

Harry felt a pure cold chill run through his veins. He had fallen right into Voldemort's trap. He glanced at the road behind them. They were traveling too swiftly—he and Ron would undoubtedly be killed if they tried to jump off the back.

"That's right," Voldemort's voice said softly, as though reading his thoughts. "You would both be killed if you tried to jump off. Your only recourse is to come in here."

"Ron," Harry hissed urgently. Voldemort was moving toward them.

"Ron, do wingardium leviosa!"

"But Harry—you're too big—I'd drop you!"

"It only needs to be for a minute or two to slow the momentum. Then I'll try to do you."

"Right," Ron replied, pulling his wand out. "Win-_gar_-dium levi-_o_-sa!" Swish and _flick_ went the wand, and Harry felt himself rising into the air. He pulled out his own wand. "Win—," he started, but before he could finish, a hand knocked Ron's wand roughly out of his hand, and Ron was dragged backward into the lorry with a shout of surprise.

Harry toppled onto the road, and rolled off it into a marshy ditch beside it. He sat up, his wind temporarily gone. He could see the lorry receding into the night. _What am I going to do_? he thought wildly. _Voldemort's got Ron and Hermione. He's got my two best friends!_ An awful, sickening feeling of helplessness enveloped Harry like a cloud. He slammed his fist into the oozing muck at the side of the road. He was stranded in the middle of nowhere, and his two best friends were being held captive by his greatest enemy.

There was only one chance, he realized suddenly. Apparation. He hadn't practiced it, of course, because he couldn't do magic over the summer holidays, but he _had_ studied the concept pretty thoroughly, because he had thought it might come in handy sometime. He had two choices. He could try to apparate to somewhere near the school—because you couldn't apparate within the grounds, as Hermione was forever reminding them—or he could apparate after the truck. It was dangerous, and he would probably end up either dead or at the least expelled, but what did that matter if it would save the lives of Ron and Hermione? It would take too long to go back to Hogwarts—they'd have lost the lorry. As it was, he could only barely see it now, disappearing into the distance.

Quickly, he stood up, knee-deep in foul, squelching mud. He could see where he wanted to go, so he didn't need to picture it in his mind. He took a deep breath, used the wand motion he'd practiced from the book, and said, "Apparo," very firmly and clearly. There was a cracking, banging rush. Harry felt as if he were being torn apart into little pieces and reassembled, and then, suddenly, he was there, only a few feet away from the truck as it sped onward. Harry realized he would have to keep doing this, and he hoped fervently that it wasn't a long ride, or he would be too exhausted to keep up. As it was, he was shaking, and he had to wait several minutes before he trusted his hands to perform the required wand movement.

"Apparo." Again, the twisting, nauseating feeling of dismemberment, and rememberment, and again, he was standing a few feet away from the truck rushing into the night. He took a deep breath and braced himself, trying to be as scared as he could be without being too scared. He _needed_ the adrenaline.

"Apparo." Still, the truck, rushing onward into the dark night. He had no idea where they were, but he had to keep following.

"Apparo." The strain was beginning to take its toll. Harry's eyes were drooping with weariness.

"Apparo." Hermione. Ron. They needed him. He had to save them.

"Apparo."

"Apparo."

"Apparo."…

…And, finally, as Harry felt his last vestiges of strength leaving him, the truck turned into a driveway outside an abandoned house. Harry looked around him. It was a dark night and the fog lay thick round about, but he could make out rolling hills and waving grass. _A moor maybe?_ was his last conscious thought, before he collapsed into the long grass and his weary eyes closed in sleep.

It was different this time. He wasn't looking at it from Voldemort's point of view. This time, he was…he was Ron. Yes. That was it. He was Ron. He was bound by ropes from someone's want and was sitting in a chair. Hermione, though, had been thrown roughly to the floor in front of him, still bound. She looked up, the terror showing plain in her eyes. He wanted to help her and so did Ron. Help her. Help her. Voldemort entered, his eyes sweeping around the small bare room, taking in every detail.

"Good day," said Voldemort's high, cold voice. Hermione looked up at him from the floor, still fearful, but defiant.

"You didn't get Harry," she said, looking the Dark Lord straight in the eyes. "You may have gotten both of us, but you didn't get Harry."

"True," Voldemort said. Harry in Ron thought he could detect a note of anger in the wizard's voice as he spoke. "But that will soon be remedied. He, being the resourceful boy he is, will find some way to follow us. And he will come here after you, oh yes, he will, even if he knows it is folly. He will give himself up for you, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley."

"Harry wouldn't do that," Harry said, feeling Ron's mix of hatred and fear. "He knows that you want him more than you want us. He'd be afraid he'd be helping you by giving himself up."

"Oh, yes, very well spoken, Mr. Weasley," Voldemort said, and he sounded amused. "I concede that that might be true under other circumstances. But you are his best friends. He won't be able to stand this—and he will see it, if indeed he is not seeing it now."

"See what?" asked Hermione tremulously from the floor.

"This," Voldemort brought his wand out with a flourish and polished it a little, almost lovingly. He brought it to bear on Hermione. Speechless with fear, she could not move.

"Crucio," said the high, cold voice, as Harry and Ron both cried, "NOOOOOOOO!!"

Hermione screamed and her body jerked in her contorted efforts to free herself from her bindings. Blinding pain seared through Harry's scar.

He sat up. He was cold and stiff from lying on the ground and his scar sent bolts of pain periodically through his head. He had had a slight hope that the dream had been just that—a dream—but the hope faded when he heard the faint screams issuing from the high old manor house outside of which he was sitting. Each scream was like a lance through his heart. _Oh, Hermione,_ he thought miserably. _I have to go in, try to get them out without giving myself up, but if that's what it takes_…he tried not to think that Voldemort knew him perfectly, knew that he would give himself up to save his friends…but wasn't he the only one who could kill Voldemort? What would happen then, if he died? Would Hermione and Ron survive much longer anyway? After all, they would be some of Voldemort's bitterest enemies. They would never survive.

Harry felt sick, thinking about it all. He was trapped on the horns of a dilemma from

which there was no escape. Still, he _had_ to try. He _had_ to. He ran toward the house. He

slipped in the door, which, unsurprisingly, was not locked. Why would you need a lock if

you were the most powerful dark sorcerer of all time?

Inside the door, Harry stepped into a long, dark hallway. It was lit by a few sputtering torches and carpeted with a dull red-brown fabric that made Harry think uncomfortably of blood. It ended in a rickety wooden staircase. Harry stepped lightly, at least trying to maintain something of an element of surprise. At the bottom of the dark, narrow stairs was a door. Hermione's screams were issuing from a room beyond it. As Harry reached it, the screams stopped abruptly, to be replaced with low, gasping sobs. He peered in through the keyhole.

Hermione was sprawled on the floor. Voldemort had dissolved her magical bonds, obviously realizing that they weren't necessary to hold her in place. She was sobbing in pain and gasping for breath at the sudden release. Ron, at the other end of the room, was calling Voldemort every bad name that Harry knew, and a few that Harry didn't. Voldemort turned toward the door.

"Come in, Mr. Potter," he said smoothly. Harry sighed. So much for the element of surprise. He opened the door and walk in, ignoring Voldemort and running over to the still-moaning Hermione.

"Hermione," he exclaimed as he reached her. "Are you all right?"

"I-I think so," she replied, as Harry helped her sit up. "What are you _doing _here you _idiot_?!"

"I-I had to come. I could see him—what he was doing to you—I couldn't stand it, Hermione."

"You _idiot_," she said again, but without much vehemence, a fact which worried Harry exceedingly.

"Mr. Potter, thank you for arriving in such a timely manner," Voldemort interrupted. "I shall relieve you of your wand, of course."

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried, which, although it didn't disarm him, forced Voldemort to resort to leaping out of the way.

"Stand down, boy," Voldemort said, ceasing his politeness. His eyes shone with a dangerous fire.

"Crucio!" he cried again, and Harry stared helplessly as Hermione screamed and convulsed. "Stop it, you bas—!" he began, but Voldemort turned to him and cried, "Expelliarmus!" before he could twitch. His wand flew through the air to alight in Voldemort's hand. Hermione gasped, past even sobbing in her pain now. Harry cursed himself for having been so easily taken in. Suddenly, Ron was there. Voldemort had dissolved Ron's bindings too. Ron dropped heavily to his knees beside Hermione, who was curled in a fetal position, gasping.

"Hermione!" he shook her. "Hermione, please, answer me!"

A croaking moan came from Hermione's throat. Then she managed, "I—I'll be…all right…Ron…"

"Yes, the little girl will be all right," a new voice said. Harry looked up to see that Bellatrix Lestrange had entered the room. _Great. _More_ bad guys_, he thought, trying to bolster his failing courage. Voldemort ran his eyes up and down Bellatrix without much interest. "You may have care of them for the moment," he said, sounding bored.

"Oh, thank you, Master!" Bellatrix replied, kneeling before Voldemort and employing such a tone of subservient obsequiousness that Harry felt slightly sick. Voldemort turned and left the room. Ron and Harry ignored Bellatrix, as they gently helped Hermione sit up.

"Hermione, come on, careful," Ron said, demonstrating a gentleness Harry would not have thought him capable of. Hermione managed a small smile. "Thanks," she said, her voice barely more than a croaking whisper.

"What a delightful reunion," sneered Bellatrix, looking down at them. "I'm so sorry I have to cut it short."

She raised her wand almost lazily to point at Hermione.

"Crucio."

Hermione dropped to the ground again, screaming. Ron leaped at Bellatrix before Harry could move. "Stupefy!" cried Lestrange, turning to Ron. Harry was seconds behind Ron, but he wasn't fast enough to bowl Lestrange over before he too was hit with a spell and knocked out.

Hermione awoke slowly from unconsciousness. The first thing she was conscious of was that her body was one massive bruise. Even the slightest move made her moan. She was lying on a cold wooden floor, curled into a fetal position. _Where am I?_ she asked herself. Then memory dawned. _Ohhh_…_Voldemort…Bella Lestrange…the Cruciatus Curse…_She shivered violently at the memory. Beside her, someone stirred. She opened her eyes to a slit and looked around.

Harry lay spread-eagled on the floor a few feet away, obviously stunned. Bellatrix Lestrange was asleep in a chair, apparently unprotected. Hermione felt with a shaky arm for a pebble and threw it at her. The pebble never reached her; instead it bounced off something invisible in front of her. She must have put an imperturbable charm around her to make sure that no one would be able to get her wand and escape.

Moaning a little, Hermione turned her head and saw Ron, also stirring, sprawled in an unnatural position on the ground.

"Ron?" she whispered softly.

"Ooh…Hermione? Hermione, are you all right?"

The concern in his voice was palpable as he sat up and touched her gently on the back. Even the slight touch made her flinch in pain. Ron drew back, looking shocked. "I-I'm sorry, Hermione."

She managed a smile. "Not your fault."

"Uh…Hermione…?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you think we'll make it out alive this time?"

"I certainly hope so," Hermione said, regaining a little of her usual briskness.

"Yeah, but, supposing we don't?"

"Can we not think about that?"

"Um…well…I wouldn't have brought it up…it's just…uh…"

"Yes?" she prodded.

"Um…what you said about me never going out with girls?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Well, I never um thought about it until fourth year—you know, the Yule Ball? And then I—uh—got jealous of—um—Krum."

Hermione managed a laugh. "You? Jealous? Why?"

"Uh, because I figured out about you being a girl?"

Hermione managed an impish smile. "Ron, that's amazing! I'm a girl! You noticed!"

"You're a…nice girl? And I know we're best friends and everything and I don't want to ruin that but…"

"Ron…when will you ever stop being an idiot?" Hermione said fondly. "That wouldn't ruin it. I promise."

He bent toward her, his red hair falling into his eyes, and his lips touched hers.

"Crucio," said a soft voice from behind Hermione, and her world exploded into nothing but pain.

When Harry came to, groggily, the first thing he saw was Ron kissing Hermione. His mouth dropped open in shock. _Ron_ _and__Hermione_? _Together_? And then he forgot about it, because Bellatrix Lestrange's soft voice said, "Crucio" and Hermione was screaming again.

"Stop it! Stop it, you evil, demented hag!" Ron yelled at the top of his voice, diving at Bellatrix, who seemed to have had an imperturbable charm around herself, but had obviously taken it off to hit Hermione with the Cruciatus Curse. Ron barreled into her, knocking her off her chair.

"Harry!" Ron yelled. "Get the wand!"

Harry saw the wand skitter across the floor. He reached for it at the same time as Hermione did. She grabbed it before him—and a cold voice said, "What is going on in here? I should just have killed you immediately."

Harry looked up into Voldemort's paper white face and gleaming slit-like eyes. Hermione had pulled herself to her feet and was raising Bella Lestrange's wand. Harry saw from his position on the floor that Voldemort's eyes flicked to her.

"Hermione, LOOK OUT!" he shouted at the same moment as Voldemort cried, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The wind of the curse rushed toward Hermione, standing frozen, wand in hand, when suddenly Ron leaped in front of her. Harry, shocked, watched as the life disappeared from Ron's face, and he fell to the ground. Hermione screamed but stood her ground and cried, "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Voldemort's wand went flying and Harry reached up and grabbed it. As if time had stopped, he surveyed the scene. Hermione stood poised with her wand at the ready, a horrified expression on her face. Bellatrix Lestrange lay crumpled in a corner, unconscious. Voldemort stood still with an expression of annoyance marking his cold features. And Ron—Harry's best friend in all the world—lay crumpled on the floor, eyes wide and staring, face whiter than a sheet of paper. A cry of almost animal rage and anguish burst from Harry's throat. He'd lost his parents—but this was worse. He'd lost Sirius—but this was even worse than that. Ron.

Harry felt his lips forming the words, 'Avada Kedavra' as his wand raised to point at Voldemort. But he couldn't do it. No matter how hurt or terrible he felt, he couldn't, couldn't kill someone.

"STUPEFY!" he cried, and as the spell of light tore through Voldemort and he toppled backwards, Harry thought bitterly that he would never be happy again.

Voldemort fell to the ground and then Hermione was at Ron's side and Harry was pulling himself to his feet.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. "Quick, feel in the pocket of my robes."

"Hermione? What do you mean?"

"I-I think I can help Ron."

"He's dead," Harry said, dully, a terrible aching sadness descending like a cloud.

"HARRY, LOOK IN THE POCKET OF MY ROBES NOW!"

Harry shrugged, doing as he was told. He pulled out a little vial filled with pearl colored liquid. "Is this what you want?" he asked. She nodded. Face white and anxious, she upended the contents of the flask into Ron's open mouth.

"Please God let me have got it right," she murmured. They sat there for what seemed like hours, Hermione tense and excited, Harry lethargic and still unable to comprehend the reality of Ron's death. And then…Ron coughed and sat up. "Ugh…what happened? Didn't Voldemort Avada Kedavra me?" he asked stupidly. Hermione burst into tears.

Harry looked at her wonderingly. "Stupid time to cry," he said, his brain reeling. "Now that Ron's alive." _Ron's alive!_ he kept telling himself. _How did she do it?_ he wondered. _Hermione just worked a miracle. _ In awe, he reached out and touched Ron's sleeve.

Hermione gulped and sniffled. "I—I bottled Fawkes' tears."

"But phoenix tears only work when they're fresh," Harry said stupidly.

"I was experimenting," Hermione explained. "Trying to get so they'd work bottled—and I think I did it, too."

"I'll say you did!" Ron croaked. "I should be dead right now."

"It's like the equivalent of the Muggle CPR," Hermione explained. "That's really where I got the idea."

Harry stared at her. "Hermione, you're the smartest witch I have ever met in my life."

Hermione blushed a little. "Well, I didn't really think we'd need to use it this badly."

Ron looked at her. "You know, you could make a lot of money on that," he said in amazement.

"_Money? _I was _hoping_ it would be a _defense_ against _Voldemort_! I wasn't trying-"

"Yeah, I know, that's my way of saying 'thank you for saving my life'. The gesture _is_ appreciated, you know."

"Oh, you _idiot_!" Hermione burst out. "Why did you _do_ that?! You might have been _killed_!"

"Well, look at it this way. If I hadn't, you'd be the one who'd have been _Avada Kedavra_'_d_, and since you're the only one who knew about the phoenix tears, somebody'd _really _have died," Ron pointed out, quite reasonably, Harry thought.

Drawing back her hand, Hermione slapped Ron across the face and then burst into floods of tears. Ron looked helplessly at Harry, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I know _nothing_ about girls," he muttered to his friend.

"Ohhhh!" Hermione moaned. "Oh, I was so worried! Don't you ever do that again!" She grabbed Ron's head and pulled it down into a kiss. Ron gave a muffled protest for an instant, but relaxed quickly. Harry stared open-mouthed at them for an instant, before Hermione opened an eye and saw him--her glare could have rivaled a basilisk. Harry blushed and quickly turned away.

"I'll just go call Dumbledore, shall I?" he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yes. Do," Ron said firmly, and then stopped talking.


End file.
